Saturday, July 7, 2012

There is less
you say
and more teethmarks embedded
into your lips
than there ever were.

It keeps you quiet
you say
but I feel the weight in your heart
the rustic pulley
with feeble oldman's bones,
and the tension strikes a chord:
B minor?
No. Something more
Isolated.
Depressingly jaw-clenching.
E. half-diminished.

I remember
a great river, and it broke
into four heads:
Pishon Gihon Tigris Euphrates
and they would flow back to Eden,
if they could.
But you can seldom turn back
when you've been dammed from the mouth.
An Act of God is
required, but not included.

A muzzle is nothing to be honored
you said
little words
are saved for the dead
"hope" and "wait" change voices
and sprout crowns from their thorny heads.

I can do nothing with words
I said
but lie in bed. and pray
(will tears
water you
the slightest?)
and turn back
and know—
I will be heard.
An Act of God is
in motion.